


It's Over

by SpringWinter



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Battle Of The 6th, Gen, I neeed tommy and tubbo and ranboo to go live their cottage core life away from all this shit smh, Kinda, Major character death - Freeform, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, and fundy too, depends if i continue ot or not, take nikki while you're at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpringWinter/pseuds/SpringWinter
Summary: 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘺.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	It's Over

It’s cold.

Not the nice kind of cold. The numb type, that takes over your fingers and takes the feeling from your legs and leaves you trembling, shivers small and unnoticeable. The kind that freezes up your form and sends a clacking sound in your back, rattles your teeth and seeps into your very bones. The cold that leaves you feeling empty and void, the cold that leaves you broken and sleepy and still against the beaming sun of which has been obstructed by clouds, and has swallowed the light keeping you afloat.

TommyInnit takes a breath, and then doesn’t take another, body still in the dying sunlight of the horizon, looking around at the destruction that has become the country he helped start long ago, and he feels that if he does not sit down, his body will make him.

_“TOMMY!”_ someone is yelling, and he realizes with a pang that he has been separated from his allies, but watching L’manberg crumble around him, he can’t help but hiccup in the frigid, gunpowder filled air, and cease his attempts at breathing entirely. The sword he had been carrying the whole time, bloody and beaten, clatters to the floor, and he watches with a wide, shrunken, pale gaze as everything he ever worked for is gone.

Ash. It’s the first thing he registers.

There are bright, warm spots all around the battlefield. Fire. They burn and don’t seem to stop, the various houses and buildings enough to fuel their flames. Wispy sounds of destruction follow his ear drums, and he remembers with a jolt that Techno had released creatures of death here, too, alongside the TNT that had rained down from the obsidian grid making itself known with its incessant clicking. Round and round the clickers go, the signal spinning in a circle unendingly. He trembles.

It’s gone. It’s all gone.

The TNT is still going.

What was it all for, if not for L’manberg? What was it all for if not for Wilbur’s unfinished symphony?

_“…and once I get the discs back, the melody will be complete…”_

There is a ringing in his ears, and his arms are cold, and he has lost much more than a country today. Much more than a memorial, than an incomplete sheet of music, than a memory of his dead brother.

He feels hollow. Hollow, hollow, carved out and void…

_“Tommy!_ Tommy, Tommy, we have to leave—” A voice says in front of him, and his brain chooses that moment to register that Tubbo is shaking his shoulders, Big Q right behind him still in his butcher gear, yet his mind grasps this information and then filters it out like sand through fingers, falling from sunburned skin like gold in sky blue, melding back into the beach outline of the ground. He remembers swimming, remembers a quiet thinking place, remembers waking up drowning and falling through water and gasping through waves and taking off his armor please please I’ll do anything—

Someone is behind him, and when Tommy turns, he comes face to face with a white mask etched in an eternal smile.

“Dream,” he says, the word barely a whisper, said so faint and quiet it’s only audible to those in his close proximity. Dream seems to pick it up anyway, the man tilting his head like an innocent animal, giving off an aura of curiosity that feels _fake._

“Tommy.” He says simply, voice without emotion, and then he leans down to him, and that’s when he realizes he has collapsed, Tubbo trying desperately to lift him back up to help him run from this, this _nightmare_ of a battle, this thing that cannot be real, this thing that he tried so desperately to stop.

Behind them, another set of footsteps approach, and this time he recognizes the boot on brick sound that only Techno’s feet can make, and another set of footsteps accompany him, these softer, lighter, and he feels dizzy and faint and thinks he is still very pale, because he can’t feel his face and everything is still so cold. Tubbo is screaming in his ear, still in his armor, cut on his cheek bleeding sluggishly, and now even Big Q is trying to lift him up, speaking softly and words desperate, but Tommy only waits as Techno and Phil go to stand with Dream, gazes stony and faces unreadable, and he says nothing as they stand in front of him, unified with the single goal of the destruction of everything he holds dear. Tommy lets out a wheezing, breathy, broken chuckle, and then pushes Tubbo’s hands away, forcing his shaking feet to stand once more and carry his meager weight.

“You did it,” Tommy says, voice hoarse and tiny. “You won.”

Phil grimaces, face set, and Techno snorts, but its dream he focuses on, who tilts his head once more and grins, mouth exposed from the way he wears his mask on his face.

“I did tell you I would, Tommy.” He says with a cocky tone, as if this is all a game, as if he’s going to grin and wave to a camera once this is all over and go collect a trophy, like this is an act, a play, a movie, as if they’re in a set and all of this will end when the cameras stop rolling. As if nothing matters to him, not really.

Tommy directs his broken gaze to Techno, who doesn’t make a sound, and then to Phil, who almost looks guilty in the dimming light, the little of it that is left, face scrunched and eyes avoiding his.

Guilty. Guilty but not remorseful. Guilty but not sorry.

Tommy feels like laughing. Tommy feels like laughing and laughing and laughing until the end of time, until everything here has decayed, and new grass has grown onto the stone and debris around them, until the craters have been filled and turned into valleys, laughing until everyone around him is nothing but _bones_ left—

“I warned you, Tommy.” Techno says, and his tone is cold. “Heroes don’t get happy endings.”

And then Tommy laughs, giving into the urge, but this isn’t a good laugh, this isn’t right, this is an imitation of the happiness and glee that he was supposed to be feeling at this age, a mockery of what had been taken from him, and he laughs and looks at Techno and then away and then back to Techno again.

“I didn’t want to be a hero, Techno. I didn’t want to be a hero! I d-didn’t—”

“Tommy, we _need_ to go!” Big Q shakes him again, and for a second his gaze is full of his terrorized face, primal fear exposed for all to see, and then Tommy laughs harder and pushes him away and grins.

“You destroyed it. My unfinished symphony, _Wilbur’s_ unfinished symphony—”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring him into this, Tommy—” Phil says, and Tommy screams.

_“You killed it! You killed Wilbur and then destroyed everything he ever built!”_ The words ring loud in the air, shrill and static, and it's with that phrase that Tommy takes a moment to realize that everyone is looking at them, the battlefield frozen, at a standstill, watching his every move. He hiccups, and then he screams again, and then he screams and screams until a hand lands on his shoulder, and it isn’t from one of his allies this time.

Tommy looks up at the man that had taken everything from him from the very beginning and then screams in his face, the only feeling in his blood being _anger._

“You lost, Tommy.” The green-clad man says, and the words are loud for how softly they have been said, under the guise of sympathy. They almost sound sorry, but Tommy knows the truth of it all, knows what is really said with that sort of whisper, with that gentle breath, and he _hates_ it. “L’manberg’s story is over. _It’s over.”_

Tommy looks around once again at the destruction around him, and he hates that it’s a fact now, and not a possibility. Dream pats his shoulder, and Tommy realizes that Tubbo and Quackity are a far distance, now, being held back by Nikki and Fundy, all of them watching the three men in front of them wearily. They’re dragging them away, and all Tommy feels is thankful.

“But our story isn’t over yet, Tommy.” Dream continues to be gentle. “No. You’re too… fun.”

Tommy looks at the floor, then, at his beaten-up boots, and he smiles. A soft pull of the lips, a gentle closing of the eyes, a soft sigh of something bitter. A quiet acceptance.

All around them, the battle keeps on, dirty moves having been pulled, and the hand on his shoulder pulls away, leaving a burning touch behind. L’manberg is gone, his brother is dead, and he has betrayed and been betrayed so many times that it is all blurring together, and he knows that the cycle will continue tomorrow. Dream is right; the story is not over, after all.

A glint in the corner of his eyes, and he decides that this story doesn’t need to have him in it anymore.

“No, Dream,” he says, dropping down to his knees, the man turning his way and looking at him curiously over his shoulder.

Tommy smiles, something soft and fake and broken, something painful and spinning and melded, and his shoulders slump, defeated.

“it’s over.” He says, and he looks up and smiles, and everything blurs together and happens so fast. Someone screams, and Dream yells something loud, and he thinks he hears agony, somewhere, an agony that he cannot fix. And through it all, he still smiles.

And as he slides the beaten up, cold, and bruised diamond sword from his chest, freezing handle slippery in his fingers, he feels the warmth of the moon on his back, and his eyes slide closed.

And the story ends itself in one final explosion of glory.

_“It was never meant to be.”_


End file.
